


The Fae and The Moneylender: A Kingkiller Carol

by evrwrldBB



Category: Kingkiller Chronicles - Patrick Rothfuss
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 16:57:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evrwrldBB/pseuds/evrwrldBB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the last night of Mourning and Bast is getting used to his life in their new town. And when both he and Kvothe find themselves without sleep it seems like it's time for Kvothe to tell a story for the holiday season.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fae and The Moneylender: A Kingkiller Carol

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zephyrprince](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zephyrprince/gifts).



> To Zephyrprince: I honestly hope you enjoy this story, it was a bit of a challenge to write but I at least hope to have caught for a brief moment some of the detail and wold building that drew the both of us to Rothfuss' wonderful books.
> 
> Disclaimer: I claim no rights to any of the characters, places, things, or themes depicted in The Kingkiller Chronicle books, full rights belong to Patrick Rothfuss.

It was silent in the Waystone Inn, as it always was, but on this night the silence had been broken earlier on. The inn had been filled with the sounds of feasting revelers that had accompanied High Mourning. The innkeeper had been kind enough to host this year’s grand feast Or more likely, he had been persuaded since this year’s Tehlu (Mayor Lant) and Encanis (Old Cob, again) had both asked him to host. So earlier on the silence had been broken with stories and songs, with mirth and merriment. Kote had put two of the heavy wooden tables against one wall, piling it high with loaves of brown bread, a massive pot of honey, a thick beef stew still bubbling in its iron pot, and a donation from the Orisons: a crown roast of mutton, in a sauce of elderberries and the last of Kote’s Vintish black vinegar. The there were the pies, which Kote sat guarding until everyone had their share to keep Bast from picking in to them. No one in town made a pie quite like Kote: the chicken and beef pies filled to the brim with meat and gravy, the fruit pies in every variety apple, apricot, blueberry and strawberry, all preserved for the occasion. But the one everyone fought over used the last of Kote’s chocolate, and was topped with thick whipped cream.

The mayor had paid Kote on the way out. Kote had insisted that it was no trouble, that being new in town it was the least he could do for his new neighbors. But the mayor had insisted, pressing five talents in to his palm. After the plates had been washed and the remaining pies stashed away in the old pie chest in the larder, Kote had stashed the silver away, knowing someone would leave a donation on the church steps tomorrow. He knew they couldn’t afford it. Then he swept the floor in his old leisurely way, and sat and polished his bottles. And when he couldn’t find a spot to polish he pulled a stool up to the hearth and threw another log on to the fire. He went to a keg in the corner and poured himself a mug of cider, sitting by the fire and sipping it slowly. His hair was the color of the flames as they licked the logs, and his eyes the color of the wreath of holly nailed over the mantle.

There was a small creak of the side window being pried open, followed by the soft thud of very light feet hitting the wooden floor. Kote didn’t turn around he simply sighed and gave the smallest of whispers, “And how is Katie Miller tonight?”

The young man standing behind him pushed the dark hair back on his head and took a seat by the hearth, “Fine Reshi, you know how- polite- she is.” 

Kote glowered at him, taking a long sip of cider, “I hope she won’t have to leave town because of those manners of yours.”

“Reshi! You think that’d I’d-”

“Leave a Halfling child somewhere in the world? You forget how well I know you Bast.” 

Bast let out a sigh and looked in to the fire for a long moment before he turned back to his teacher, “Don’t worry Reshi, I know better than to leave…evidence of our being here.”  
Kote nodded and finished his mug of cider, standing and walking over to the barrel to refill it. He came back with two mugs, leaning down to pass one to the younger man, “Happy Mourning, Bast.”

“You too, Reshi,” Bast gave a slow smile and sipped his cider, looking across at his teacher, “Aren’t you going to bed?”

“In a while, I might stay up and make sure Katie Miller doesn’t have another late night visitor, or Syl Bentley, or the Widow Creel for that matter. We’re supposed to be keeping a low profile here Bast.”

“I am! What kind of village doesn’t have a Village Letch! I’m providing a service to this backwater Reshi.” Bast leaned against the stone hearth, dipping his fingers in his cider and flicking them toward his mentor.

“And what would they do without your service, my young pupil?” Kote laughed, grabbing a poker off the fireplace and brandishing it at Bast before plunging it in to the coals.

“Their wives more often?” Bast grinned, his eyes dancing with mischief. 

“I may have walked in to that,” Kote snickered, shaking his head, “But since I can’t have you wandering off, you’d best get to bed, remember bad little boys don’t get their Mourning gifts.”

Bast pouted, downing half of his mug of cider, “But I’m not tired Reshi! At least let me have a bit of Elderberry-”

“I’m out. I told you Bast, you have to drink that slower.”

“Lessons then!”

“A bit late for lessons.”

“A story?”

That stopped the innkeeper in his tracks, and his mouth perked up at the corners, “Alright, a story then. I just so happen to have one that’s perfect for a quiet Mourning night.” The innkeeper joined his student on the hearth and when he did, a different man sat across from him, a man with true red hair and eyes like green grass.

“My old friend Wil told me this story,” Kvothe sighed, “Just after I returned to the University and told him about my adventures in Faen.” 

“A faerie story Reshi? You know I hate Faerie stories.”

“Oh but you’ll like this one Bast, because it’s true. One thing I could tell about Wil was that when it came to the Fae he knew what he was talking about.”  
Bast raised an eyebrow, “How could you tell?”

“Because when I sang him Fellurian’s song, he was mouthing the words. Now this happened long ago, in a simpler time, when every coin was Cealdish, and Ralien was the richest city in the world. And in Ralien lived the richest moneylender to ever walk this earth and his name was Ebbon Goldfast.  
______

Now Goldfast was not his actual name, but he was of no birth of consequence and he had become so renowned that the other moneylenders had taken to calling him ‘Goldfast’ so Ebbon had printed it on his front door and called it a day. And when anyone came to Ralien and looked for a moneylender the word ‘Goldfast’ printed in shining gilded letters was sure to draw them inside. Now Ebbon was fair with his terms, and expected his payments on time, but he was not cruel, and did not relish foreclosing on a home or sending collectors out to secure a loan payment. 

But despite the fact that he seemed as cordial a person as any, and he was more successful than any of his profession, he was alone. And a single Cealdish man at his age was truly a sad sight. A Cealdish wife is the merchant of the household, she’s the one who buys the household goods, hires the servants, pays for the roof to be thatched, the cellar to be cleaned. A man of his station was expected to have fine wine, finer clothes and furnishings that matched his office. But Ebbon was still dependant on his sister, his only relative, to do all these things for him. And she had her own husband to care for, so Goldfast’s success came with no small amount of shame. His sister had tried to introduce him to friends, but Ebbon was too concerned with the success of his business to pay attention to any of them.

Ebbon was the only moneylender in town open during the seven days of High Mourning, which most moneylenders ascribed to his dedication to his work. However, this was because Ebbon didn’t have a wife to hold the kind of Mourning feasting a rich moneylender was expected to have. So on the fifth night of Mourning, Ebbon was working late, not paying attention to the hoards of men in demon masks running about the city, taking part in the winter pageant. Ebbon was packing up his things when the little silver bell above his door rang. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a man in a mask standing in the door and he coughed and began to say, ‘In Tehlu’s name’ when he looked at the man closer.

It was Encanis. Or a man in an Encanis mask, who took the mask off and made a low bow, he had dark, curly hair, and his eyes were golden. Ebbon didn’t understand, this year’s Encanis was supposed to be the mayor’s son, and this was certainly not him. 

‘Pardon me,’ the young man said, ‘I know you’re about to close but I could really use a small loan and I was wondering if you could help me, my name is Wilemere son of Dagarn.’

Ebbon scowled at the young man, ‘I’ve never heard of you, and I’m sorry I don’t deal in small loans, now please-’

‘Just a small loan sir, just a pittance, only forty marks sir, I can vouch for my reputation, I’m sure some of sir’s may friends would have heard of me or my father, and I would pay you back tomorrow night. Merely some expenses I need to take care of…covering for the mayor’s son and all’

Now, forty gold marks was quite the sum in those days, still is today. Ebbon wasn’t the greediest man in the world, but for anyone who said forty marks was a pittance, he had the time. A few minutes later Goldfast had drawn up a promissory note for the young lord, at least he assumed it was a lord, and asked if the young man had any collateral for such a short term loan. Wilemere produced a ring, set with a large emerald. Ebbon accepted the ring graciously and handed the young man a small purse filled with coins, wishing him well.

Ebbon returned home that night, to an empty house, and slept alone in a large, cold bed. In the morning he returned to his office and worked once again, long in to the night. Goldfast had let all of his accountants out for the Mourning season so that they could enjoy the festival. And once again just as he was about to close up, the little silver bell rang, and there was the same man in the Encanis mask. Wilemere was quick to reclaim his ring and almost as soon as it was in his pocket not forty, but eighty gold marks were on the table. The young man was on his way and Ebbon went home again, in much better spirits as he awoke on the last day of the year.

When Ebbon Goldfast returned to his little shop that morning, he opened his desk drawer and pulled out the two fat purses of coins. When he opened them, he saw they were full of lead coins. Ebbon was stunned, not only had he been sure the coins were gold but he had the only key to the drawer. Goldfast shut up his business, racing through the city until he found a man dressed as black Encanis. Ebbon tackled him, wrestling him to the ground. The man was much stronger than he expected, and when some of the iron drabs Ebbon had in his pocket change fell on to the stranger’s arm, Wilemere howled in pain. 

Now Ebbon Goldfast, being a lonely man, and accustomed to doing business, knew many, many stories, and he was quick to realize the man for what he was, not a demon, but a Fae. And after dragging the Fae in to an ally and threatening him, finally Wilemere was ready to talk. He could have simply killed this man, but he didn’t feel like leaving the city, and there were guards with iron swords that could make short work of him. He apologized for paying in Faen coin and gave the moneylender a choice, either Wilemere could pay back the loan on its original terms or, Ebbon could consider it a payment. 

‘Payment?’ Ebbon scoffed, ‘A payment for what? What could I possibly need from you?’

‘A warm house, a full bed, someone to take the frown off that face,’ the Fae replied, ‘I can show you how to get those things, how to get what you long for, so you have to make a decision. Are you a man, or a moneylender?’

Wilemere reached out his hand, and the moneylender shook it, and in an instant, Ebbon saw he was looking at his own face, though his eyes seemed different, they were the golden eyes of the Fae. And when Ebbon looked down he found that he too had changed, and when he looked down at his hands he saw he was wearing the Fey’s clothes and was holding the mask of Encanis in his hand.

‘Today moneylender, you shall be Encanis, you shall cause merry hell throughout this city, take what you want, do what you please, run from Tehlu and Iron. I will go to your sister’s feast, and when you awake tomorrow as yourself, you will have the life you want.’ Wilemere spoke in Ebbon’s voice before he wandered off in to the streets.

Ebbon did as he was told and terrorized the streets, chasing girls, setting off fireworks, causing mischief. Eventually he couldn’t help himself, he had to know what this stranger was doing with his family. With his body. He ran through the streets and quickly slipped inside his sister’s house and tossed the mask in the gutter outside. Inside he saw himself laughing with his sister’s friends, playing games, and dancing. All things he never did himself. And since Ebbon was not himself either, he felt no fear in speaking in to one of the girls his sister knew, asking her what she thought of Ebbon Goldfast. The girl confided that while before she had found the gentlemen kind, yet cold, tonight he had joined in the fun and for the first time and she thought Ebbon Goldfast seemed like a man she could learn to enjoy. And for the first time since Ebbon could remember, he wanted to be himself. 

When Ebbon returned home that night, he found he did not have his keys and so he retrieved the spare he kept above the back door. He climbed in to bed and fell asleep, wishing he could have been himself with that lady, and wishing he spent less time on his work, and more time on his life. And so when Ebbon awoke the next morning, and saw his own face, his own hands, he ran to his sister’s house, waking her and her husband up and asking about the girl he’d met at the party. He eventually found her and after a few months of letting his business slip, he married the girl. And when he eventually told her about the magic of that last night of Mourning, his new wife asked him what he had learned, and he said that what he had learned is that to know happiness, one must step outside one’s self. And when they had their first child, they named him, ‘Willem’

________

Kvothe took a sip from his mug, and set it down by the fire. He looked at Bast and gave a slow smile, “Well, what do you think?”

Bast frowned, “That was awful Reshi. It didn’t make any sense! Am I to believe Wil was the descendant of the greatest moneylender in the Ceald? And that he was named after some Fey I’ve never heard of? It doesn’t even sound like a fairy story, no magic gifts, no three tasks. Honestly it sounds like it was told by someone…”

“Drunk and speaking half Siaru actually. When they say we Edema Ruh know all the stories in the world no one ever said we know them all well.” Kvothe stood up and offered Bast a hand. He pulled the younger man to his feet.

“Well now I feel tired, Reshi,” Bast growled, and began a slow trudge up the stairs with Kvothe trailing behind, “Which I suppose was the purpose of that story.”  
“Now you’re learning Bast. That’s exactly how I felt when I first heard it.”

They bade each other good night and Kvothe slipped inside his room. While the story wasn’t the greatest, he hoped Bast at least took the message that he was doing the right thing, getting involved with their lives in Newarre. Kvothe spent a few minutes getting the fire going in his room, and as he dressed for bed he stepped over to the small, disused desk in the corner. A few pages sat on the top and Kvothe picked one over, reading it through before he crumpled it in to a ball to join a small pile of other ones on the desktop. Kote let out a sigh and slid in to bed, his eyes locked on the ceiling as he waited for sleep that would not come. If there was one thing he knew how to do, it was step outside himself. If anything, he did it too well.


End file.
